


Innocence

by mbunnyj



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chloe is Alive (but not present), Dark Room, Episode 5: Polarized, F/M, Jeffershit is a Jefferdick, Joyce didn't leave David, Long, Long Shot, One Shot, Rescue Mission, Trauma, grahamfield - Freeform, warren-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbunnyj/pseuds/mbunnyj
Summary: After a gravley wounded Chloe warns Warren that Max has been kidnapped, Warren goes to save her himself. Just as Max is about to be murdered, Warren is caught, giving Jefferson just a bit more inspiration. WARNING: LONG.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Warren Graham
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Innocence

Warren pulled to a stop, his car sliding across the muddy ground even after he slammed his foot on the brakes. He checked the polaroid for the reference picture, and held it up to compare it with the barn in front of him. He squinted through the thick, pounding rain, so heavy that everything outside his windows only looked grey. But he knew he was in the right place. He had to be.

At first, when the storm hit, it was actually very light. Well, compared to this, at least. He, Stella, and surprisingly, Taylor, decided that they would volunteer to help anyone injured in the mess that the storm was bringing down. Stella was handing out supplies to families with damaged goods, and Taylor was helping out at the hospital, though her mother being a patient there really helped. All the emergency services, especially the ambulances were running around the clock, bringing more and more seriously injured people to the hospital. So Warren had been finding people with minor injuries and driving them to the hospital, knowing it wasn't really safe to walk all the way there.

It was just getting dark, though the pouring rain made it a little harder to tell time, when Warren dropped of patient number 5, a man with a sprained ankle. As he helped him sit down in the emergency room, more nurses pushed through, gripping a stretcher and running towards the back. At first, it barely drew his eye, having seen that scene play out at least a dozen times that night, but he was forced to look up when the patient on the stretcher called his name.

It was Chloe on the stretcher. She'd been shot in the side. He went to her side immediately, and she told him everything. She and Max had gotten a trick text from Nathan's phone and went to the junkyard to find the body of Rachel Amber. That would have been enough of a shock, but she also told him how they were caught by none other than Mark Jefferson, who had tried to kill Chloe, before kidnapping and drugging Max.

Chloe gave him one of Max's photos - he knew it had to be hers - and told him to find the Prescott Barn, before loosing consciousness. He did try to reach the police, but for the first time he had ever known in his life, he ended up on hold. Everyone was backed up. Maybe no one was even there. So after making sure that Joyce Price was coming for Chloe, he gripped the photo tightly, got into his car, and drove off as fast as he could without crashing.

Now he was here, and he could barley see his own hand in front of his face. He leaned into the back and grabbed the tarp he'd been using to keep the seats dry from all his drenched passengers that night, and pulled it over his head, protecting him just enough so that he could see what he was doing. He found the hole in the side of the barn all to quickly, and stepped inside, shaking off the tarp.

The barn was almost too dark to see, but he could still hear the sounds of rain leaking through the old roof. He'd left his flashlight back in the car, but even without that, once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could clearly see the hatch in the floor. Warren tiptoed over towards it and pushed his fingers underneath, then, with a silent prayer, pushed it up as quietly as possible. It was almost a good thing this storm was wrecking the town; it had made Jefferson too cocky, leaving the hatch unlocked.

Still, Warren wasn't the police that Jefferson would have locked it for. He had to be more stealthy than aggressive. Nathan was one thing, but Jefferson was a full-grown man, and, considering Chloe had been shot, an armed one, too. But at the same time, he couldn't wait around for a police force that might not even be able to show up. Luckily, there was one man he could count on to be so paranoid, he'd actually show.

Warren actually had David's number, lucky for him. Chloe had already written it on Max's barn photo. He tried to ignore the bloodstains on the back as he punched in the numbers and sent a text to David Madsen. While it was true that he had a bad reputation at Blackwell, Mr. Madsen had actually helped him out before, in the parking lot when Nathan beat him up, even though he took his sweet time getting there. And he wasn't a troublemaker, either, which really helped his case.

He sent Madsen the text with all the information needed to find them. But just because help might actually be coming now, didn't mean he was just going to sit there and ignore Max. He said he was going to help people tonight, and if anyone needed help right now, it was her. He shook the last of the water off of himself, and started quietly descending into the bunker. He left the hatch open behind him, partly to help David find them, and partly in case he needed a quick escape.

No matter what, he had to believe that he was going to save Max. None of this would matter if he couldn't save Max, again. Then again, it really didn't matter at this rate how many times he got pummeled by Nathan, or Jefferson, or whomever was next. Now there were bigger things at stake, and he hated that Max was one of them. Yeah, she'd gotten herself into this mess, (though Chloe probably didn't help,) but he wasn't just going to sit by and let her get... he didn't really want to know.

When he came to the door, he took a couple shocked steps backwards. For a brief second, he was actually impressed by the very "Ocean's Eleven" level of security the guy had, though it quickly changed back to disgust when he remembered that the man was guarding a murder basement or whatever. Three of the numbers on the pinpad were faded, and he knew that if he messed up too many times then he might lock it. Or worse, alert Jefferson.

But once again, Warren was lucky for the storm outside. Jefferson had left it unlocked again, confident that the police wouldn't be bringing down the door anytime soon. Now the hardest part. Warren slowly turned the handle, and to his relief, it made no noise whatsoever. He could see the rest of the room around the corner, a state-of-the-art, eerily clean studio. Along with Jefferson, holding a camera that even Warren could tell was hideously expensive, standing over Max, duct-taped to a chair.

Warren ducked back upon seeing her, hiding around the corner and wedging himself in-between two of the cabinets. Thank god he was relativity small compared to jocks like Nathan Prescott; he was able to hide in the darkness quite well. Though he didn't make any obvious noises, his shuffling was still at the limits of Jefferson's hearing. He slowly turned around, curious, but not overly suspicious. He leaned back to peek around the corner, one eye on the door. When he saw no one was there, he turned back to Max. Warren tried not to breathe a sigh of relief.

It took him a second to realize that it wasn't Jefferson he was afraid of, but Max. Or more accurately, what might have been done to her. She looked to be at the tail end of a drugged state, just coming back into consciousness. Still, she looked pissed. But they were talking, so that was something.

"Anyway, Rachel is dead. But no tears, Los Angeles would've killed her anyway, so, look at this as a favor," Jefferson said.

"You're evil," Max turned away, fists clenched. Warren had seen Max get angry before, but now she looked truly, horribly disgusted, furious. She'd become so powerful in the past week, it almost made Warren feel like she was going to be the one to save him instead.

"Oh, I see, you're 'good' because you stopped your friend from beating Nathan up."

Warren picked up his head and went rigid. Something about them talking about him, at one of his worst moments, no less, made him even more scared. The two of them not thinking about him was his greatest advantage, but now that his name was out in the open, it actually made him more paranoid.

"Where is Nathan now?" Max asked.

"Dead and buried," Jefferson said coolly. Warren raised a hand to his mouth in shock. He wasn't going to pretend that he liked Nathan Prescott, but he didn't deserve to die. No one did, not at the hands of this sick bastard. "Now the police will never find his body. Do you finally get it now, Max? I can't compromise my vision with amateurs."

"You are an amateur! Look at the trail of death you've left behind. You can't blame all this on Nathan! I don't care what you do to me. You're gonna die, motherfucker! For Chloe, and Rachel, and everybody else!" Warren got the feeling that Max would have throttled him if she could. She looked furious. Even he was scared. But no wonder Max was angry, if she thought her best friend was dead. Apparently, even Jefferson didn't know Chloe had survived.

"I do love your spirit, Max, but you brought yourself here, by your own choice. Anyway, I like my models to be seen and not heard...so I have to make sure...there's nothing left behind...of you."

That one made Warren flinch. Time was running out. He was searching for a way to get around him, maybe knock him out, or at least hold him up. At this rate, with all that he'd done to Max, Chloe, Rachel, hell, even Nathan, Warren was ready to kill the son of a bitch.

Jefferson passed by Warren's hiding spot calmly, his eyes not even glancing in his direction. Warren froze, paralyzed for a moment. When he left Warren's eye line, Jefferson sighed. "Of course," he said, half annoyed and half amused, "Should have known, really. I have good news, Max."

"You're not going to kidnap and murder innocent girls anymore?"

Jefferson ignored that comment and turned around, retracing his steps. He stopped in front of Warren's hiding spot... then turned to face him. Warren stood stiff, as if somehow, if he stayed silent enough, he'd turn invisible. Jefferson smiled darkly at him, drinking in the boy's fear. "You're not dying alone tonight, Max," he said, staring straight at Warren. Without enough time for Warren to even try and run, Jefferson reached in and grabbed his hair, pulling him out of his hiding spot and half-dragging him across the floor towards Max. Warren didn't bother to stop himself from uselessly shouting "No!" as Jefferson dragged him across the floor.

"We..." Jefferson started. He spoke through gritted teeth, clearly struggling against Warren. He finally threw him to the floor, landing on his knees in front of Max, suddenly looking terrified again. "Have a guest."

"Warren!"

"Max, I'm sorry, I was just-"

"Yes, yes, only trying to help, we know. Max knows all about that, don't you?" Jefferson said dismissively. He was holding a gun now, pulled from on of the shelves. Warren was about to stand up, when Jefferson pushed his shoulder down, forcing him back to his knees. He held the gun against the side of Warren's head, and Warren froze.

"Stop! Don't do this, please!" Now Max was screaming. Warren could find it in himself to say anything. He noticed a tear falling out of his eye, but he wasn't going to go out crying. Max had been so strong the past week, and he wasn't going to fail her when she was at her weakest.

"Now, say goodbye to your friend, Max," Jefferson said, holding Warren's other shoulder.

"Warren, please..." Max had started to fold over on herself, "don't kill him! Don't do this!" She was beginning to thrash around, desperately trying to get free. 

Seeing her like this, it was taking everything Warren had not to truly start crying. "Max, it's okay, it's okay," he kept repeating, a madness mantra he had to convince them both of before it all went to hell. Max was sobbing quietly, now.

"I'm so sorry, Warren, I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault, Max. You didn't ask for this-"

"Anyway," Jefferson inturuted them, one of those teacher-isims that he used to get the class back on topic, like nothing was wrong. "It **is** Warren, right? Sorry, I have trouble with the names of any students I don't teach," he chuckled, like this was nothing more than casual small talk, "speak. It's your last words, make them count."

"Warren..." Max whispered, mostly to herself, "I'm sorry."

"I love you."

She actually looked up at him again, more shocked than anything. Her eyes were bright red from the drugs and the sobbing. Warren repeated himself, his voice becoming shaky, but firm; "I love you, Max. I... never give up, please."

"I..." Max looked like she wanted to start crying again. "I love you too."

"Don't forget me, okay? Promise me that."

"Warren, please!"

Warren squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for it to end. He could feel the barrel of the gun on his head, Jefferson's hand clenched like a vice on his shoulder. He almost wanted it to end, just to get out of this nightmare, just to stop hearing Max's soft, shuddering breaths.

Then suddenly, Jefferson dropped his hand. "You two are adorable," he said. "Young love at it's finest, I suppose." He gave Warren a slap on the shoulder, like a father after his son's ballgame. "Risking life and limb to save the girl of your dreams. How... innocent," he sighed, contented. "Tell you what, Warren. Go and untie her. Go on, go on."

Jefferson backed away and shoved the gun in his belt, hands in the air to remind them that he didn't have any other weapons. He wordlessly gestured towards Max, still smiling. After a few careful steps back, Warren turned around and started pulling at the tape on Max's legs. "Max, I-"

"Warren, stop. Turn around," Max said. Looking up at her, he could see how angry she appeared. Warren slowly turned around, seeing Jefferson, now holding a camera.

"Look back the other way! This is almost too perfect," he insisted. Jefferson still had his hand over the gun, and readied it. Warren found himself breathing a concerned, nervous breath, before doing as he was told and continued trying to untie Max. Her body was rigid with rage. Warren glared from under his damp hair, as he heard the camera going off behind him, Jefferson circling them a few times, taking photos. He came far too close to Warren's face, the camera pointed at him.

"Perfect, perfect, those are just the eyes I was thinking about. Wonderful. You must model for Max, huh?"

Warren glanced away, trying to at least ignore him, until he felt the gun on his knee. "Answer the question."

Warren forced himself to take a deep breath. "Occasionally," he said quietly.

"That makes sense. Max and I can see the same things, and we both see that innocence in your eyes, don't we?"

"Fuck you," Max spit. Warren was almost more scared of her than Jefferson.

"And right now, Max has got the inverse, the anger, in spades. So, we're going to focus on that for a bit," he said, standing up. Warren returned to trying to rip off the tape, but he could only think that Jefferson had layered it more times than necessary. Figures, he doesn't lock the door, but he takes this much care tying Max up.

Then something pierced the side of Warren's neck and Max screamed. He reached up and touched it, but it was only when he saw the syringe in Jefferson's hand that he realized what had happened. "Don't worry, I made sure to use a smaller dose. Not fatal," he said, watching Warren stumble under the weight of his own body and collapse, gripping the side of his neck.

"What are you doing?" Max screamed as Warren hit the floor, groaning.

"You're angry as ever, Max. I thought I was done with you here. But your boyfriend has given me a lot more to work with. I'll admit, I've never done a two-person shoot down here, nor have I ever photographed a boy. But I was looking for innocence, and you two are the best example of that I've seen in a long time. You just got an extension, Max. The three of us have more work to do."

Jefferson had placed the gun up high, locking the cabinet doors, then picked up the duct tape and made his way over to Warren, ignoring Max's protests. He only bothered taping his hands, secure behind his back, while Warren, still groggy and holding onto consciousness, made a futile attempt to crawl away. "Usually, I'd complain about all this struggling, but in this case it's actually what I want. That's right, kiddo, you can do it. Be her hero, you've got it."

Jefferson picked up his camera and pointed it towards them. He really had given Warren a small dose. Not enough to knock him out, but it was enough for him to forget that Jefferson was even in the room for a moment. He just saw Max, and he knew that he had to help her. He tried to get up, but found himself falling over again. Occasionally, he'd lie still and stare at her, eyes screaming to help her. After only a few minutes, it was becoming clear that the drug was wearing off, his eyes suddenly becoming sharp and focused again.

"I will kill you for this," Max said through gritted teeth.

Jefferson lowered his camera. "Well, there's that anger again," he said, turning back to her. He raised the camera, but Max seemed determined to look away from him. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Jefferson sighed.

"Okay, better idea. Sorry, Warren, but Max is being very stubborn," he said. Jefferson approached Warren on the floor, now looking as angry as Max, and pulled him up by his hair. Warren shouted under the tape, wincing slightly, but his face returned to it's newfound anger in no time. "Max, make sure you're watching," he said. Max once again starting pulling at her bindings as Jefferson turned back to Warren. "I remember when I had those eyes," he said. "So innocent. I can't wait to see it again."

Two gunshots rang out.

Jefferson stared straight ahead, eyes wide. He coughed, a tiny splatter of blood escaping his lips. His white shirt began to turn red as he looked down in disbelief. "You... bitch.." Jefferson collapsed on the floor, allowing Warren to see behind him. Max had tipped the chair over onto it's side, and she was holding the gun. The same one that Jefferson had locked away earlier. He didn't pretend to know how she got it, but Max could only stare at him with dead, empty eyes. One leg was still attached to the chair, but she'd managed to get out of everything else.

"That photo..." she said softly. "There's a photo of me behind you. I stole it from there. I had it... I had it all along, really."

_She stole it from the... photograph? What?_

"Drop the gun!"

Warren looked up. David had finally shown up.

The long night was half over.


End file.
